


The Night of The Exes

by Siff



Series: Not much we haven't shared [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Porthos is not having an easy night, So much trouble, and other stuff, and sex, mention of drugs, nope - Freeform, rich snoody poeple, trouble with the exes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: As the titel says, the night where all their exes somehow manage to show themselvesorThe time where Porthos almost punches three different men in one night.





	The Night of The Exes

Porthos had never felt more out of place.

Despite wearing a really nice suit which fit like it was tailored for him – something he strongly suspected was the case, no matter what Athos said – he knew he stood out. It wasn’t just that everyone was dressed to the point in expensive label clothes and fine jewelry, it was more the fact at everyone was either a millionaire or had a roman number behind their names.

Porthos had glanced at the guest list when they arrived and had actually seen a guy’s name being James Henry Highstonn IV.

This was not his scene, everyone knew it. They had barely entered before he felt a hundred eyes narrow at the sight of him. It was like facing a pack of wolves who could smell a dog amongst them. If he hadn’t made a promise to Athos, then he had turned right around and walked home.

One glance at Athos, though, and he didn’t regret his decision one bit. He looked even more uncomfortable than Porthos felt. It wasn’t obvious, nothing with Athos ever was, but Porthos had learned through trial and error how to read his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The thought made him smile as he sipped his champagne – what wouldn’t he give for a pint right now – and watched as Athos talked to Constance by the door.

It had all started with her. It was her first major PR event, and she had been stressed out for weeks. As it became clear that the majority of the guest list was either royalty or somehow related to the crown, she freaked out and asked Athos to join the night as a moral support. Being blue-blooded, albite very distantly, Athos qualified to join the evening without even having to ask for an invitation.

It had taken more than a bit of pleading from Constance before Athos had agreed to come. He had then walked around like a dark cloud for days until Porthos had offered to join him. Athos had given him a single look.

“You do know that it will be nothing but people believing they are better than anyone, merely because their family tree can be traced back at least two centuries, right?” Athos had said. Porthos had just laughed and told him he was being dramatic (something he deeply regretted now, since Athos had been more than right) and promised to help him through the night.

In the end, Porthos had to promise him mind-blowing sex before Athos agreed, and say yes to Athos dressing him up. It was the part he'd been most uncomfortable with, especially when he saw the price tag.

“I’m not letting you buy that!” he’d said and let go of the suit as if it burned him. Athos had looked him dead in the eyes.

“This is a very small price to pay for you to save me tonight. Believe me, Porthos.”

Porthos had thought Athos was just being overdramatic, but now he thought an expensive suit suddenly wasn’t enough. Maybe he should have brought a tiara or something. Now that would make the snobs look.

Athos joined him after talking with Constance, a glass of untouched champagne in his hand. He looked calm and had a smile on his lips, but Porthos could see how stiffly he held himself and the slight narrowness of his eyes. “Hey,” said Porthos and resisted the urge to draw Athos close. He had been warned that gay behavior was a total no-no at these kinds of parties. “How are you doing?”

Athos smiled like nothing was wrong and took a sip from his glass. “Not as close to killing myself as I could be.” Porthos had to turn his snort into a cough, as an elderly woman with diamonds around her neck passed by them and gave him a withering look. Athos leaned a bit into Porthos and he enjoyed the contact.

“Its good you’re here, or I might end up throwing my drink at someone again.”

Porthos crooked an eyebrow at him. “Again?”

Athos sighed. “You don’t want to know.” For a second, he let his discomfort truly show. He did indeed look miserable, but Porthos had to admit he also looked rather dashing. He was wearing a dark three-piece suit, and his hair and beard were more kempt than Porthos had ever seen it before. He looked fine and irresistible. Porthos was truly beginning to look forward to keeping the other part of his promise later tonight.

The mere thought of slowly taking off each layer of clothes, stripping away this version of Athos, until the one he knows lie on the bed, waiting only for him, made heat pool deep in his stomach, and he had to gather himself, or the rest of the party would become very uncomfortable for him.

“Come now,” said Porthos and nudged Athos with an elbow, hoping to distract them both for a bit. “An hour or so and we can go. Until then, why don’t point out everyone you’re related to.”

Athos gave him a frozen smile. “The ones I hate or the ones I can actually tolerate.”

“The ones you hate,” grinned Porthos, “and I might be persuaded to spill my drink on them. Accidentally, of course.”

Athos’ smile, true and fond this time, was worth a night at this place.

They managed to spend quite a while just standing by one of the giant windows, Athos pointing out him or her, and how he is connected to them, or they to the royal family. When that got boring, Porthos amused himself by trying to break Athos’ façade by whispering his plans for later into his ear. Athos didn’t break, much to Porthos’ annoyance, but it was still fun to try.

There were speeches they ignored but dutifully applauded. A short visit to the food table left Porthos hungrier than before – he’d tried caviar once before and swore never to again – and Athos promised him with a whisper that they would get a burger on the way home.

All in all, it wasn’t terrible, but true to form, just when Porthos thought that, trouble came.

Athos had just pointed out an elderly cousin to the Queen, who apparently tried to marry him off to her daughter years ago when Athos suddenly froze. It took a moment for Porthos to notice that Athos was staring into the crowd. When Porthos followed his gaze, he spotted a man about their age walking towards them. He was dressed sharply in a black suit with a red tie, and his blond hair was slicked back, a few strands had escaped and hanging down his forehead. He was carrying his own glass of champagne and grinning in a way Porthos really didn’t like.

He stopped just a little too close to them and ignored Porthos completely as he smiled at Athos.

“Oliver,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Athos hated being called by his first name and Porthos saw him narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Dom,” said Athos and gave a short nod. There was a smile on his lips but his eyes were cold as they looked at the man. “You know how I hate to miss out on a party.”

“Indeed, I know,” said Dom with a knowing smile as he glanced at Athos’ half empty glass. Athos’ mouth twitched a tiny bit. The man gave Porthos an almost bored look. “And who might this be?”

“This is Porthos, a friend,” said Athos, sounding calm, thought Porthos could practically feel the tension beginning to radiate off him. He once again had to resist the urge to draw him closer. “Porthos, this is Dominic Rochefort.”

“Also, a _friend_ ,” said Rochefort and held out his hand with a sleek grin. Porthos hated him instantly and let go of his hand as soon as he could.

“Yes, we attended school together,” explained Athos quickly and gave Porthos a look of apology.

“Oh, we did so much more than that, didn’t we, Oliver?” smiled Rochefort. “But I understand if you would rather keep the old school days private.”

The words rang in Porthos head like an echo. He didn’t want to look at Athos and see if his suspicion was confirmed. Rochefort’s words made something iron hard form inside him, and anger-fueled heat began to spread through his limbs. He really hated this man and everything he implied.

Athos, however, sounded totally unaffected. “Indeed, I would, Dom. Thank you.”

“No harm, old friend,” said Rochefort and reached out to touch Athos’ wrist. Porthos had to clench his own hand together to stop himself from tearing Rochefort away from Athos. They looked at each other, and Porthos could feel the tension rising. He couldn’t help himself and stepped closer to Athos, letting their elbows brush.

Rochefort pale blue eyes flicked down and saw it, and then narrowed slightly.

“How kind of you to invite your friend, Oliver,” he said pleasantly and looked up at Porthos. He still hadn’t let go of Athos’ wrist. “I’m sure someone like him must find it quite overwhelming.”

Porthos could feel his cheeks heat up. “What do you mean by that?” he nearly growled out the words and took a step closer to Rochefort. Athos’ hand shot out and grabbed him by the elbow. Rochefort grinned in triumph like he'd just won some kind game Porthos didn’t even know they were playing.

“Interesting company you keep these days, Oliver.”

God, Porthos hated the way he said Athos’ name.

“Excuse us, Dom,” said Athos calmly, his fingers tightening their grip on Porthos’ arm. “But I think its time for us to go. Its been a long day.”

“Of course.” Rochefort raised his glass. “Lovely to meet you, Porthos.”

Porthos was eager to get away from Rochefort and gladly took a step back. He fists were still clenched, and he was thankful Athos stepped in between then, nudging Porthos to get going. He took about four steps until he noticed Athos wasn’t with him. He looked back and saw Rochefort had tugged Athos close, hand still on his wrist, and whispered something into his ear.

Athos was smiling like Rochefort was telling him something funny, but Porthos saw how pale he had become, and how the skin on Rochefort’s hand had turned white with the strain of keeping Athos where he was.

He was a second from coming to Athos’ aid when Rochefort released him and then clasped him friendly on the arm, before striding away, disappearing into the sea of people.

Porthos rushed to Athos side. He was breathing hard and the glass in his hand was shaking slightly. Porthos gently took it from his hand before he spilled the rest of the content down himself.

“What the fuck was that about?” hissed Porthos under his breath, eyes scanning the crowd for the blond head.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” said Athos. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he straightened his back and breathed out. When he opened his eyes, he once again looked calm and collected. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Right,” said Porthos. They went as fast as they could without attracting attention and managed to say goodbye to Constance, who seemed to have gotten over her panic, and easily navigated the party and the guests.

When they got their coats, Athos was struggling a bit. He couldn’t get his arm into the sleeve and began to tug at the coat until Porthos gently stopped him. Athos looked up at him, and Porthos saw the calmness was fading. He was still pale and his mouth was set in a tight line.

“Hey,” said Porthos softly and pulled him aside. He leaned down a bit and placed his hand on Athos’ cheek. “You okay in there?”

Athos blinked a few times before leaning into Porthos’ hand. Porthos stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“I hate these kinds of parties,” said Athos in a whisper. Porthos let out a small snort and got a smile in return. He knew it was more than that. Rochefort, no doubt, and whatever he had said to Athos, but until he was ready to talk about, Porthos wasn’t going to pressure him.

Besides, whatever Rochefort had been to Athos, what they had been to each other, Porthos wasn’t ready to hear about it.

“Wanna go to my place?”

Athos nodded. “Please take me there.” There was just a hint of a plea in his voice and Porthos had them out on the street in less than a minute.

Out in the fresh air, Porthos pulled Athos in tight and felt comforted when Athos just leaned against him and let him direct where to go. The street in front the building the party was in, was packed with shiny, black cars and personal drivers smoking as they waited for their employers. Porthos looked around for a cab but there was none in sight.

“Come on,” he said to Athos and walked him down the street. Around the corner was a pub, and the sidewalk was filled with people enjoying the nice evening and a pint. Old fashioned rock could be heard through the open door, and the sound of laughter was a sharp contrast to the party they had just left. Porthos was tempted to stop for a drink but Athos was still pale. Besides, he would rather take Athos home and into bed.

He looked down the street, wondering shortly if it there was a better place to find a cab, but then spotted one coming towards them. He raised a hand.

“Porthos!”

He dropped his hand and turned his head.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered and let go of Athos who looked up.

“What?”

“Charon!” called Porthos and spread out his arms and Charon walked into them, grabbing him a tight embrace. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Charon pulled back, grinning brightly at Porthos. “Drinking! Is there anything else to do on a Friday night?”

“Never was,” said Porthos and they clasped their hands together like they had done a thousand times before. “Let me look at you.”

He stepped back and looked at Charon. He looked well. He had gained weight since last time Porthos had seen him and had lost that hungry, sunken look he had carried for so many years. It suited him, made him look strong. He was dressed in black jeans and a deep red t-shirt that clung to him and showed the muscles he had gained.

Aside from a tacky golden chain around his neck and the rings he wore, Porthos thought he looked good.

“Damn, its good to see you,” he grinned and pulled Charon back into a hug. Laughter filled his ear as Charon grabbed him around the neck and shook him slightly.

Charon’s grin, bright and white, dwindled a bit when he took a good look at Porthos. “Yeah… you too.” He frowned a bit and touched Porthos tie. “What the hell are you dressed as?”

“Oh, I was at this… party… thing.” Not comfortable with the look Charon gave him – and not exactly knowing why – Porthos pulled his coat tighter around him, hiding his expensive suit from view. “It was a bit… fancy.”

Charon snorted. “Since when did you become _fancy_?” He said the word like it was something dirty. In his mind it probably was. Porthos couldn’t remember a single time where Charon hadn’t cursed those better off than them.

He had too once.

When you had nothing, talking trash about other people became as normal as breathing.

But things were different now.

“I didn’t,” Porthos said. “I was invited by Athos.” Athos had until then been standing by the curb, giving them space, but was now forced to step closer and greet Charon, something he did with his usual friendly if reserved behavior. Charon’s eyes danced around his figure, taking in everything Athos’ appearance was saying. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m Athos, nice to meet you.” Athos held out his hand, and Charon slowly took it.

“Same,” he said and his smile turned sharp. For a moment, none of them moved but merely stared at each other. When they finally let go and stepped back, Athos straightened a bit, his eyes turning a shade cooler than before. Charon looked at Porthos.

“Did he dress you up?” Porthos was taken aback by the venom in Charon’s voice.

“What? No.” It was a lie, of course, but Porthos didn’t like how Charon looked at him, at Athos.

He had forgotten how quickly Charon’s moods could change. Even as kids, he had been slightly unpredictable, one second smiling and laughing, the next cursing and swinging a fist at you. Porthos had through the years learned when to duck, but he never saw the signs leading up to the rapid change in Charon.   

Just like now, Charon had again changed. The friendly smile was gone, and instead, he looked from Porthos to Athos with a sudden anger Porthos didn’t know where had come from.

Old instincts told him it would soon be time to duck.

“Fuck off,” Charon hissed. “Like you could ever afford something like this.” He grabbed Porthos’ tie and flung it over his shoulder. It annoyed Porthos more than it probably should have.

“How would you know?” he bit back. “I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“You made it pretty clear last time didn’t want to get involved!” said Charon, clearly on the defense now. Porthos swallowed, suddenly remembering all too well the last time he saw Charon.

The idiot had been mixed up with some shady people and needed Porthos help with something. “You just need to stand guard, you know,” he had said. “Call if you see someone coming.”

Porthos had flat out refused and they’d had the fight of a century, before Charon left the flat, slamming the door behind him. It was almost seven months ago. Only a few weeks after he and Athos had returned from Ninon’s country home.

“And I still don’t. You shouldn’t deal with that kind of shit, Charon,” Porthos said. Charon snorted.

“Bit too late now, mate,” he said in a mocking tone. “We can’t all be some rich boy’s bitch, you know.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach. A loud ringing began in Porthos’ ears and he glared at Charon who, like always, never saw danger even when it was staring him down. Instead, he always had to poke the bear. He leaned into Porthos’ space, a joyless grin on his lips. “So, what does he pay to fuck you?”

A hand on his chest pushed him back before he could smack his fist into Charon’s face. Athos stood between them, keeping them apart with a hand on each of their chest. Charon pushed it away violently.

“Get the fuck off me, rich boy,” he sneered.

“Calm down,” said Athos, a note of authority entering his voice, which made Charon bristle.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Athos gave him a stern look – the same usually gave Aramis when he got a really bad idea – and Charon actually shut his mouth. He clearly didn’t know what to do with something like that. It was like seeing a feral dog being challenged, and for the first time realizing it was facing a losing battle. Charon stepped back, head bowed a bit, but his eyes still flashed with anger.

“Let’s go,” Athos said to Porthos. He sounded emotionless and didn’t look at him. Porthos felt all his anger drain away immediately. Shit.

Athos’ hand dropped from his chest, and Porthos felt cold without it.

This night had been a disaster.

Athos went to hail a cab, leaving Porthos and Charon alone. Porthos didn’t know what to do. Being with Charon had always been easy. Not always safe, but easy. Now he felt like a chasm had opened up between them.

The disgust in Charon’s eyes when he looked after Athos and the mocking smile on his lips made Porthos… disappointed. He had expected more from Charon, truly he had.

Maybe he should have known better.

“Porthos,” said Athos softly, standing by the open door of a cab. Charon looked at him.

“You have changed, mate,” he said.

Porthos sighed. “Maybe you should too.” He turned away from Charon and went over to Athos, who climbed into the cab. Porthos closed the door behind him and gave the driver the address for his flat.

“Who was that?” asked Athos after a minute or so.

“An old friend,” said Porthos and regretted his words immediately as he remembered Rochefort.

“Oh,” said Athos and looked out the window.

Porthos almost wanted to scream out in frustration. Yes, he and Charon had… a few times… but it hadn’t been anything with feelings. Just an itch that needed to be scratched. As far as he knew Charon liked women well enough. They had just been young. Tried things.

It hadn’t been like that, and Porthos wanted to say so, but he doubted Athos would really listen. He would probably nod and say he was fine, and sink into one of his moods.

Porthos leaned back in the seat and looked at Athos, whose eyes were miles away. Porthos ran a hand down his face.

Fucking hell.

The drive wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity until he finally stood outside again, waiting for Athos who, as always, insisted on paying for the cab.

When he opened the door and his flat greeted him with darkness and shadows, Porthos still breathed out a sigh of relief. He almost felt like a soldier returning from a battle, which he had almost lost.

Almost…?

He looked at Athos as he stepped past him and into the flat, also breathing a heavy sigh. With his back turned to Porthos, he looked with the weight of the world had landed on his hunched shoulders. The worry Porthos had felt in the cab began to turn to dread.

It had taken him months to make Athos comfortable with their relationship. After their first night together, and the panicked days after, it had taken all of Porthos’ patience to convince Athos that falling in love again wasn’t going to be his death (he sometimes still wasn’t entirely sure he had actually succeeded) and it was still a daily battle.

Athos had scars Porthos couldn’t erase, but he didn’t care. Every kiss and touch from Athos were worth the many moments of dark moods and dead eyes.

Sometimes though… when his mood was really bad… when Athos stood as he did now, in the darkness of Porthos’ flat, he feared all his work had been for nothing.

Closing the door behind him, Porthos slowly reached out, only touching Athos’ shoulder with his fingertips, hating how he flinched. But he didn’t draw away, and that gave Porthos hope. He let his fingers move until his hand was lying on Athos’ shoulder, and his heart leaped when Athos tilted his head and rested it on Porthos’ hand.

Relief flooded through him and his head fell forward.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. Athos chuckled, though it sounded dark in the shadow filled flat. “Thought I lost you there for a second.”

Athos turned around, keeping his cheek on Porthos’ hand as he did. His eyes were half-lidded, and looked straight at Porthos. He reached up to take Porthos’ hand in his own and brought it to his lip. A warm shudder went through Porthos, the dread leaving him, and he stepped forward, pulling Athos to him by the grip on his hand.

Athos leaned against him and Porthos kissed him as intensely he could, trying to tell him how sorry he was for this night, sorry for Rochefort and his jealousy, and whatever memories the man had awoken in him. He tried to tell him how sorry he was for Charon and his behavior, and in return, Athos buried his hands in Porthos’ hair, stepped closer so their bodies aligned, and tried as well to tell how sorry he was.

Heat filled Porthos, chasing away everything that had happened before this moment and he grabbed Athos coat, pushing it to the floor and then began to tug at his own. Athos pulled back.

“That coat costs more than this place,” he said, a hint of fond annoyance in his voice. Porthos snorted.

“You can afford it,” he mumbled and bowed down to taste Athos again. He avoided his lips, however.

“Yes, but you can’t, and I’m not letting you throw this on the floor as well.” He ran his fingers over Porthos’ coat, his chest and then up to his throat. Porthos shivered.

“Fine, we’ll dump then over a chair. Good enough?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Brute.”

Pothos gave him a short kiss. “You love it.”

“I do,” said Athos, suddenly sounding serious. Porthos froze and looked down at him, not sure if this meant what he thought it meant. What he hoped it would. Begged for.

Athos met his gaze, his eyes not wavering. He opened his mouth slowly and Porthos thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

Then his phone chimed in his pocket, making them both jump. Porthos cursed as Athos stepped back, his fingers leaving a burning hot trail on his neck when they fell. His phone chimed again, and cursing, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out.

Athos bent down to get his coat and went to the dinner table where he carefully placed it. Porthos watched him, annoyed and glared down at the screen.

He had gotten two messages from Aramis. He tapped the screen, wanting to tell Aramis exactly what he had just interrupted, but then he saw the words.

 _At Masacs_ , the first read, followed by, _please come._

Porthos heart sank so fast and deep he feared he might have lost it somewhere inside him. Shit, shit, shit, shit!

“What is it?” asked Athos, stepping up beside him and looked at the screen, frowning a bit when he clearly didn’t understand Aramis’ message. Porthos looked at him.

“The night isn’t over yet?”

“Bad?” asked Athos. Porthos put the phone back in his pocket.

“The worst.” He looked down at himself and then Athos. “We need to change.”

“Why?”

“Where we are going, you don’t want to wear something expensive,” said Porthos and quickly kissed Athos before heading for his bedroom. A moment or so, and Athos followed him.

Ten minutes later, they were in a cab, heading south. Porthos looked at his phone, but Aramis hadn’t answered his text, telling him to stay put. Athos was leaning towards the driver, showing him the address on his own phone, before falling back into the seat beside Porthos.

Despite the situation, Porthos couldn’t help but give him a long look over. He was dressed in a pair of Aramis’ old jeans and Porthos t-shirt, complete with his old hoodie, and he looked damn fine.

His hair was again a bird’s nest, and he looked out the window with a thoughtful gaze. Porthos had changed too and had to admit he felt better in his leather jacket than in the fancy coat Athos had gotten him. He also knew it was a totally different look on him, and a good thing too, for he might need to be a bit of his old self now.

Maybe it was good they had run into Charon tonight.

It took too long getting there, but when they arrived he left Athos to care for the cab driver and ran for the door of a building which had seen better times. As always, the front door was open and he ran through and up the stairs, heading for the flat on the third floor. The door was open as well, and he could smell and hear the party long before he reached it. Fuck.

He went inside and could barely see a thing. All the curtains were drawn, and the only light was from lamps with red shades, making the whole place look like something of a mix between a brothel and a horror movie. Music from a small stereo was blasting with a beat Porthos could feel rattling his bones, and he eyed the many bottles and glasses on the boxes serving as a coffee table. 

There weren’t many people left. A few were passed out on the floor or the couch, while those still awake was smoking and blowing thick smoke into the air with a dopey grin. A couple was making out on the floor, both barely dressed. Porthos ignored them and walked deeper into the flat, knowing where to go.

The bedroom didn’t have a door. Torn off years ago. The light inside was better than the rest of the flat but not much. On the bed, only dressed in his jeans, was Aramis, looking like shit.

Porthos went over to him. “Aramis, it's me.”

He was shaking slightly and slowly looked up at Porthos with wide, frightened eyes. Porthos held back a sigh and gently took Aramis head in his hands, looking deeply into his eyes. They were blown wide.

“What the hell did he give you?” he asked.

“He used to able to take it,” slurred a voice from the other side of the bed. Marsac was lying naked on the covers, a bottle of vodka in his hand. He gave Porthos a lazy smile.

“What the fuck did you give him?” demanded Porthos. Aramis flinched.

Marsac shrugged, spilling some of the vodka down his stomach. “Bit of this, bit of that,” he drawled. “He didn’t even notice. He never do, does he.”

Hadn’t Aramis been sitting before like a lost lamb, Porthos might have lost it. Marsac, that fucking asshole, deserved nothing less than a punch to the face. And while it would make Porthos feel better, it wasn’t what Aramis needed right now.

“Porthos?” said Athos, appearing by his side. “What happened?”

“Help me with Aramis, will you?” he said and looked around after Aramis clothes, not finding them. Athos didn’t even hesitate in pulling off the hoodie and gave it to Aramis, who despite looking like he was in another world, began to pull it on. Porthos found his shoes thrown across the room.

He watched Athos help Aramis get dressed. He had a focused look on his face, like nothing around him mattered besides Aramis, and despite the horrible situation, Porthos felt a small amount of warmth grow in his chest.

“Come on, Aramis, let's go home,” said Athos gently and helped Aramis up from the bed. Aramis grabbed Athos by the front of his t-shirt, looking frightened. Athos didn’t even flinch, but put his arm around Aramis’ shoulders and began leading him out of the bedroom and out of the flat.

Knowing Aramis was safe with Athos, Porthos turned towards Marsac who was still sprawled out on the bed with a doped-out grin.

“Don’t fucking contact him again, you hear?” he growled and loomed over him the best he could. Marsac’s grin faltered, but he didn’t look worried.

“Can’t stop him from coming to me,” he said and took a swig of vodka. Porthos grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to close so he dropped the bottle, spilling vodka all over the stained sheets.

“Don’t ever contact him again,” he growled, tightening his grip as hard as he could.

“Fine, fine, let go ya fucker,” said Marsac and Porthos let him go with disgust.

“I mean it,” he said and glared at Marsac. “Don’t beg him for help or anything again. If I ever see you near him again, I won’t hold back.”

He didn’t let Marsac answer, but instead turned and stormed out of the flat. He didn’t bother to close the doors or anything but hurried down to the street where Athos was waiting beside the cab.

“He’s inside,” said Athos, and nodded towards the cab. Porthos nodded.

“Thank you.”

“What is this place, Porthos,” asked Athos and looked up at the window on the third floor. His eyes flashed with anger.

“Trouble,” said Porthos, suddenly feeling tired. He dug out his phone and saw it was well past two in the morning. “Nothing but trouble. Come on, let’s go home.”

They got into the cab and Aramis grabbed his jacket immediately. Porthos pulled him close.

“Why, ´Mis? Why Masac?”

Aramis’ voice was painfully childlike. “Lonely,” he whispered. Porthos heart clenched in his chest.

“Why didn’t you come to us then?”

Aramis mumbled something Porthos couldn’t hear. He looked at Athos who had a pained expression on his face. “He didn’t want to be a bother,” he said in a low voice.

Guilt slammed into Porthos, adding to the list of stormy emotions he felt this night. “Oh, ´Mis,” he said and lay his head on Aramis hair. “You never could. Never.”

He hadn’t realized it. Had he really been so occupied by the new relationship with Athos that he had forgotten Aramis? He honestly didn’t know. But that wasn’t the point.

Aramis had felt lonely and therefore sought out Masac. It could not happen again.

Athos mumbled something into Aramis ear and while it helped some of the tension leaving him, he still shook violently. Porthos caught Athos’ gaze and they made a silent agreement to do better.

Porthos spend the ride with a shaking Aramis clinging to him, while Athos murmured to him in French and stroked his hair.

It would be a long night, Porthos knew, and an even longer day tomorrow.

He looked at Athos, who talked Aramis’ wide eyes closed with his words and felt a little hopeful. They would work on this, all three of them.

Porthos glanced out the window, seeing London pas by the cab window, and made detailed plans in his head on how all three of them would spend the following day together on the couch, doing nothing but being together.

There would be questions, from all of them, and many. Porthos knew he would have to be the one telling the tales. Athos didn’t know most of it; Aramis would be too deep in self-loathing to do it himself.

Maybe Athos would tell him some tales as well. Though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear them, he still hoped. But now they just had to get home and go to bed.

Tomorrow would be all right.

He hoped it would be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Aramis is really not a drug addict in this little verse - not at all!  
> Unfortunately, Masac always ignores this. He never really comes out in a good light in my stories… ah, well. 
> 
> Thank you for reading^^


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